


Don't slip

by Illidria



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, LLF Comment Project, Shower Sex, Smut, with a sidedish of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 05:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illidria/pseuds/Illidria
Summary: She’d asked him for his name once, to which he’d replied that she could call him whatever she wanted to. What Miles had soon put a stop to, telling her that the name she’d chosen just wasn’t one you could yell over a full marketplace. Or address someone with in front of kids. Or should say aloud at all.





	Don't slip

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so kinky is always a very wide term, so I went with something not as… kinky? I’m severely missing vocabulary for these kind of things :D So, anyway, the lovely Gardengeisha wanted something aside from the usual LivBucc and LivMiles, so take *drum roll* LivScar, because I need practice for them ;)  
> Well, here goes nothing...

People had gathered around them all day, but they left them alone in the evening.

It had been Scar that had asked her for one more bout on the training grounds, after their last one at late afternoon had ended in a tie. His destruction-arm had gripped her shoulder, her blade she’d held against his throat and they’d parted then, the crowd cheering, breathing heavily.

He was a sight, she would admit that.

Had been well-build when she’d first met him in the tunnels beneath Central Command, though it hadn’t been the time to think about that particular fact. Instead she’d focused then on getting him to don a coat talked off of one of her soldiers, to make sure that his face was covered when being carried from the rubble.

He’d asked her why and she’d thought, but not told him, about Major Miles, his wish to rebuild the culture of his childhood, to have his daughters see these lands at least once and not as a pile of rubble.

And year after year she came by, her family one of the biggest benefactors of the rebuilding efforts, her real reason though that she missed Miles, her goddaughters. That after Drachma had come forth with a peace-agreement, the thing that could be seen in the sky during the promised day turning their neighbouring countries incredibly friendly, her life, her command, had become less fulfilling than before.

And if she wanted to be brutally honest with herself, rolling up the sleeves of the white blouse she wore, readying her sabre for the coming bout, the Wall felt less and less like home.

Faces she’d come to cherish over the years were missing, there was no constant tension anymore to keep her mind off that fact either. And trade-forms were not what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

“Ready Armstrong?”

He’d taken off his shirt again.

Year after year she visited, helped with everything that needed help, from talking rich blokes into donating money to helping build houses. And he did the same, growing buffer and stronger each year.

“Born ready, Grandpa Grump!”

She’d asked him for his name once, to which he’d replied that she could call him whatever she wanted to. What Miles had soon put a stop to, telling her that the name she’d chosen just wasn’t one you could yell over a full marketplace. Or address someone with in front of kids. Or should say aloud at all.

Grandpa Grump had stuck, certainly a step down from the one before, but it fit the man now barrelling at her, having chosen a staff to fight her this time.

Forcing herself to concentrate, she dodged.

It almost made her laugh how he ran past her, a look of pure confusion on his face, taking a while to lower his speed and turn back to her.

Every bout today had started with him attacking and her meeting his weapon with her own, his disappointed expectation showing in his expression. He caught himself quickly though, smirked, probably having caught on to how she planned to fight him today.

They played cat and mouse with the other, though neither was sure who filled which role.

She attacked him, tried to get her sword between his arms, wanted him to drop that staff, only to be dodged, to feel his chest brush against her back.

Caught a whiff of sweat, almost overpowering, the smell of spices filling her nose. Cardamom, cinnamon and black pepper, mixed with the heaviness of musk.

And when he attacked with his staff, tried a sweep at her legs, she jumped and twisted upon landing, brought her sword up just in time to block a blow from his weapon.

Answered his smirk with one of her own, could simply not fight the tug of a feral smile at her lips. Saw his eyes go a bit wider, saw the hint of a blush creep onto his cheek. Let herself drop to the ground at that, kicked the legs out from under him and fought down a laugh when she heard him wheeze, the wind knocked out of him.

Got into position a few paces back, gave him space, not wanting to let this bout end so soon.

He was unconcentrated, she’d noticed that quickly. His attacks took too long, his movements were somewhat uncoordinated, not to forget that he chose to fight with a weapon probably not unfamiliar to him, but too little trained with to meet her own skill with her sabre toe for toe.

Would have pounced on him without second thought if it were one of her own soldiers, showing such weakness to her, but didn’t.

Dodged again when he attacked, thinking about how much fun this was.

The way he looked during their fights, the smell. The tension.

He and her talked often, more with every visit to these lands. Worked well together, often ate at the same hearth in the evenings. And sometimes this tension would crop up, the air would grow thick and heavy, her limbs too, somehow unable to do anything about it.

They both weren’t talkers, did not carry their feelings on their tongue, so instead they fought, let the tension rake up to almost unbearable levels.

Traded blows with him, not hitting his staff at the right angle, not cutting through it like she’d done with his past few weapons.

And when she dodged with a fleet-footed twirl, his staff hit her leg hard.

Send her staggering, had her create distance hastily, blocking his next blow, straight at her face this time. Held her sword up in front of her, pushed her sabre with one hand on the hilt and the other pressed flat against the metal.

Felt him push with all his might and could not keep her tongue from slipping, the smirk from pulling at her lips.

“Your staff’s sturdy, huh?”

Which had him blush more fiercely this time, gave her an opening, pushing him back.

And when his face scrunched up, when he shook his head a little as if to clear his mind, looked at her with lips firmly pressed together and a gaze set on winning, she felt a thrill run up and down her spine.

Dodged a new flurry of short attacks now, was ready for all that he threw at her and yet exhilarated by the display of raw strength. He was a worthy opponent, could beat her if he truly put his mind to it, maybe with a bit of luck. It set her nerves alight, activated all of her senses.

And when his staff did not just hit the air next to her head, but sailed past her, she anticipated his next move.

Felt his destruction arm, his right, fist her blouse with its hand, right above her heart.

And her own blade at the same time came up against his neck, not even an inch away from his flesh, body pressed against his.

Could not help herself when moving around a bit, the smell of his sweat assaulting her, her legs brushing against something that wasn’t just his own. A smile coming to her face, the feral one again, which usually had the people that knew her scatter quickly.

Another quip rolling off her tongue, his expression priceless.

“And here I thought that your staff had just sailed past me.”

Brushed against it once more for good measure, not knowing why she tortured herself this much. Felt him let go of her, pulled the sword from his neck.

Walked over to its sheath, her small utility-bag. Put the sword away, picked up her things and walked towards the shower-building.

Threw the stock-still man one last look, noticing that he must’ve been watching her go all the time.

Winked and smiled, enjoying the redness in his cheeks, the sweat glistening on his bare muscles, the white hair escaping his braid.

Hoped that he’d gotten the hint this time.

* * *

The showers were build into a small and flat building, twenty stalls with drawable curtains and running water twenty-four hours of the day, each day of the week.

When a new piece of land was developed, this was one of the first buildings set-up. Helped to keep everybody clean, prevented diseases and provided water to those that lacked an own shower, which everybody did at first. Here it was little more than a place for those training to cool off in now, more practical than walking through the whole town drenched in sweat.

And at this time of day, it was blessedly empty.

Aside from one person of course, as he’d watched her enter the building, had stared at the sway of her hips. Had not dared to move, barely been able to think a clear thought, all blood gone south. Still was painfully hard, though thinking more clearly, now that the adrenaline had subsided.

Heard one shower running, though saw that no curtain was drawn.

Gulped audibly, stood still with his hand on the handle of the door for a while, not sure how to proceed. He liked her, not just in the way so obvious to him right now. Looked forward to her visits, took solace in their shared silence and in their shared words too, what she said thought through and insightful. She wasted no words, something he appreciated. Was not shy to work hard either, helped where she could, listened closely, when taught about the Ishvalan culture.

Was beautiful on top of it all.

Was drawn towards her strength, the way the muscles in her arms moved when sparring, the way her thighs looked when she jumped. Enticed by the way her hair flared, rarely bound, instead flowing freely, naturally. The blue of her eyes, severe, speaking of harshness and honesty. He’d heard many talk about them, how unforgiving they seemed and wondered if they were blind.

It would be a lie to say that she was nothing but kindness. But she wasn’t just harshness and cold either.

Had proven to him rather spectacularly only a few minutes ago, that she could be temptation incarnate, if she wanted to.

Had asked her to spar for that reason, not exactly the temptation part, but the life in her eyes when she thought, the wide range of emotions. How she looked elated and rushed and calm and serene at the same time. Hadn’t been able to help himself, had wanted after a whole day of training again and again with her, to see that look again.

Made up his mind at that thought, closed the door behind him after stepping inside, turning the always present key once in the lock. Had his own small bag in hand alongside his shirt, had not thrown it on after sweating it through. Walked up the stalls towards the one steam was billowing out off, set on taking the one opposite of it, to revel in the tension some more.

They’d been close when fighting more than once and he’d gotten addicted to the scent of bitter coffee and shampoo. With each day of her stay mixing more and more with the smell of the spices he seasoned his food with, her often joining his hearth in the evenings along with Miles family.

Had caught the underlying note of something else, knew what it was and yet always flushed when thinking about it.

And when he put his bag up on the hook, pulled out his soap and a towel, he heard her voice over the sound of water hitting tiles behind him.

“You took your sweet time.”

Heard the smile in her voice, the sly undertone and turned around against his better judgement.

Could have died on the spot as a happy man at the sight of her, though new something better to do. Took in the lust her eyes offered, long blonde hair pulled up into a bun, her blue orbs dark in the dim light of the showers, trained on him. The way her lips were pursed, curled at the corners with amusement. Followed the curve of her body with his eyes, her ample chest, the tiny waist and the flare of her hips.

Her figure was that of an hourglass he noted, enticing and exhilarating, worthy of all the time in the world.

Watched as she moved a bit, lathering herself up with body wash, strong thighs and calves, perfectly formed in his opinion, her feet, small, missing a few toes. Was not willing to ignore the numerous scars littering her body, though thought that they only underlined her natural beauty, the strength that showed in every movement. His appreciation turned to pure lust again, when her washcloth spread foam over a blonde patch of curls.

He gulped and decided to be as ashamed as she seemed to be of her nakedness, which meant not at all.

Had no shirt anymore to pull it over his chest, but stepped out of his sandals. Loosened the drawstring of his pants, pulled them down without bravado, though he hoped that he seemed at least somewhat elegant. Hung them up next to his shirt, did not look at her when he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underpants. Took his time, a deep breath and seemingly took too long.

“Getting cold feet?”

Answered her constant teasing with a fierce look, locked his red irises with her blues and watched them dilate and stray lower when he slowly but surely pulled down his last pair of pants.

Watched as she bit her lip when his erection sprang free, when a deep flush overtook her cheeks, her chest. Saw that her eyes followed the piece of cloth as he slipped it down his legs, hung it up next to the rest.

Felt goosebumps rise when her eyes followed his body from toes to head in a long appreciative glance, staying at his legs for a long time, his crotch, his chest. On his face then for a long time, felt like his cheekbones, his chin, his too often broken nose, were almost caressed by her gaze. The flush not leaving him when he decided to play normal, to give her a small show even, reaching for his soap.

Lathered up his chest first, his arms and legs before stepping under the water.

Watched her watch him, how she forgot to spread the wash on her body more, foam slowly sliding down her curves. The way she stared, bit her lip. How her own fingers softly caressed over her stomach, muscles rippling every time she shifted feet. How they sometimes dipped lower, always accompanied by a small sound of pleasure, almost not to hear over the sound of the thundering water.

Wanted to make her suffer a bit more, felt exited by being in control like that, feeling her heat from so many feet away. Threaded his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes when the water hit his face. Pulled the hairband from it, turned blindly until he found the ledge and put the little thing on it. Turned while doing so, showing her his behind somewhat unplanned, though the moan it elicited loud in his ears.

Took his sweet time though, washed his now free hair, sides still shorn but the rest of it almost reaching his shoulders by now.

Stepped out under the spray of water, hands rubbing at his face to wipe the water from it a bit. Opened his eyes again, looked in her direction, curious. Wanted to know if his bravery had paid off, usually not playful or teasing, but straight to the point.

Moaned himself, when he saw her eyes watching him. A hand now less than subtly dancing between her legs, the other scratching over a breast. Saw the flush, her half-lidded eyes. Noticed, that her hands did not stop when their eyes locked, instead doubling their efforts.

Suddenly felt weak, leaned against the wall with his back, barely thinking about his hand, stroking his erection.

The only sound the water and their moans for several minutes, until he saw her shudder, saw her hand still, her eyes close. Saw her tremble, mouth open, the sounds the sweetest he ever heard. Watched her laboured breaths, the rise and fall of her chest. Decided that he couldn’t take it anymore.

And when she opened her eyes next, he was right in front of her.

* * *

Her high was barely over, still had her trembling, when she felt his breath on her face.

Had not planned for it to overtake her so suddenly, but the way he’d palmed himself, his eyes almost falling shut. The way the muscles in his abdomen had twitched, the throaty groan that had escaped his throat.

All of it together had send her over the edge, which in turn must’ve been the last straw to the distance he’d been so keen on keeping.

And now it felt like electricity sparked up where he touched her, his hands coming up around her waist, rough and calloused fingers scraping over her skin. One of his hands travelling up, digging into the flesh of her breasts, a thumb stroking her nipple. The other dipping lower, her ass grabbed so hard that she just knew that there’d be bruises tomorrow.

Her own hands not idle, scratching over his chest, his shoulders, taking hold of a nipple and pinching it hard enough to gain her a moan. Let her hands wander lower, skirting his erection that was trapped between their thighs, instead focusing on his behind.

The look she’d gotten of it had been enough to make her knees weak, had almost torn down her resolve to wait for him to make the first step.

And when her fingers dug into the flesh, as firm as she expected, softer than his hands, his chest, she just hoped that it felt as good to him as his ministrations felt to her. Let one hand wander up again, over his well-muscled back, scratching at his shoulder blade. Reached his jaw in time with his own hand reaching hers.

Both of them stilling their movements when he cupped her face and she caressed his jawline, feeling the stubble there, made soft by water and sweat and soap. Their eyes locking, both out of breath, pressed so close together as if they were trying to slip into one another.

And when he angled his head and pressed his lips to hers, she mourned for a second that it took them so long to get to this point.

His lips rough against her own, the sand and heat having cracked them a bit over the day, surely much like her own. The sensations exquisite though, setting her every nerve on fire. She the first that wanted more, pressing her tongue against his lips, demanding entrance. Their kiss deepening then, her eyes closing of their own accord.

Did not think about breathing, or anything else, until she felt two fingers press up against her core, her lips harshly parting from his, the moan escaping her loud and throaty.

Wasn’t even thinking about restraining her noises, the skilled fingers flicking higher, her already swollen and sensitive nub. Saw his grin, a flicker in her vision, and retaliated immediately.

Found his length effortlessly, hard and hard to ignore, to overlook, grabbing it tightly. Gave it a slow and tortures pump, scratched over glans, dragged her fingers along the ridge that separated the head from the rest.

He moaned and groaned and snorted a laugh at the same time.

“You never back down, huh?”

Her reply a hiss, his fingers pressing deeper, teasing her entrance.

“Why, did I hurt your pride? Bite me!”

It being her turn to grin now, watching his face, his mouth, now seeming feral too.

“If you insist!”

And with that he did bite her, his teeth sinking into her collarbone with a mix of pleasure and pain.

Knew that she was loud, but did not care. Wanted it now more than ever, when she saw his grin after resurfacing from his bite, a laugh escaping him, silenced by her lips on his, her one hand pulling her closer, the other tightening around him.

Was pressed into the wall by him, felt one of his hands tug at her hairband, throwing it away. Laughed when they took the shortest possible break to breathe, her hair tumbling around them, in parts wet and in others dry.

Let her leg wander up to his thigh, keened in triumph and mourning at the same time when his hand left mound, instead hooked into the bend of her knee. Felt his other hand grab her ass firmly again, hoisting her higher.

With her new position, this knew angle, she was kissing him from above, bit into his lips, brought one hand up to pull on his hair until she heard him groan. Did the same when his length brushed against her nether lips, hot and firm.

“Care to lend a hand?”

His words a breathy groan, but she understood it nevertheless.

Used the one hand that she’d used to scratch at his back with before to grab a hold of his length, to guide it to where she wanted it to be the most. Missed a few times, deliberately, loving the sounds he made, revelling in the friction herself.

And when the tip aligned with her entrance and she brought her hand up to his neck again, winding around it, when she pressed her back against the wall, his grip on her firm and yet feeling like should make it a bit easier on him. When he started to sink into her, thick and long and unbelievably hot.

That was when her moans escalated to screams.

* * *

Her heat was overwhelming.

Tight around him, gripping him. Remembered to wait when they were joined completely, flush against the other. Listened to the sounds she made, looked at her flushed cheeks, her eyes almost fluttered close. Was close to losing it if he were honest.

Had learned to hold out for a long time when he’d trained to be a priest, had learned to resist temptation. Only resisted it now though, for one reason: her comfort.

And when her forehead came to rest against his, their bodies pressed flush together, one hand playing with his hair, the other scratching and clawing at his neck. When her hot breath ghosted over his face, her muscles contracted around him in a tentative squeeze. When her eyes opened a bit more again and him tightening his grip on thigh and ass, only then he started to thrust.

Slowly, wanting to savour the feeling, for it to last forever. To enjoy her sweet mewls.

Looked into her eyes, deep blue, dark with lust. Groaned when she pulled at his hair, dug her fingernails into his skin. Understood what she wanted to tell him, thrust faster, more frantic.

Her moans escalating in pitch, getting louder, sweeter, her voice not sounding like some General ordering men around. More like the temptation she was instead, womanly and curvy, bold and brazen at the same time. Felt her move with him as much as she could.

Saw white spots in his vision when she angled her hips a little, moans almost turning to screams.

His own heavy breaths getting louder too, more irregular, his grip on her body so hard that there would be dark bruises in the morning. Groaned now with each thrust, their eyes locked, foreheads touching, both moaning and groaning, their mouths open with exertion.

Him steeling a kiss when readjusting his hold on her, slowing the pace for a moment, her sounds frustrated. Laughed at a little at that, and redoubled his efforts when sure that he had her securely.

The world a blur then, the white spots not leaving, moans mingling, escalating to screams. Felt her start to pulsate around him, watched as it overtook her eyes, her whole expression. The shivers and shudders too much for him, his own release taking over, his thrusting now frantic.

The sound he made one he did not register as his own, almost like a howl.

Pressing himself against her during the aftershocks, into her, warm and pliant against him. Tried to catch his breath, only succeeding partially. Enough though, to try and set her down, to notice that her legs were jelly. Helped her sink to the cool tiles of the floor, came to rest next to her, keeping his arms around her shivering form. Basked a little in what had been a long time coming, until her blues seeked out his red.

They shared a kiss then, maybe two or three, let their hands wander a bit more.

And after a few minutes of this, he helped her up. They washed the other down, he helped with her hair, at first startling her, soon noticing though how much she seemed to enjoy it. Parted and washed the strands, watched as she put them in a towel when they were done.

Inspected the bite-mark he gave her, while she softly touched her fingertips to the scratches she gifted him.

And when they dressed, and she had no clean shirt in her bag, unwilling to throw on the sweaty blouse, he gave her his spare shirt. Almost appalled with how different it looked on her, hem stuffed into her pants, the formerly shapeless garment suddenly seeming to follow her curves. Dressed himself though, offered to cook something for them at his place

Saw the look in her eyes at that, the grin, and replied to it in kind.

* * *

Damn punks.

Amestrian. Ishvalan. Cretan.

It was always the same. At least once a week someone would lock the showers shut from the inside, usually only allowed when it was women’s only hours, without question what was going on. He of course knew that the key in the door was inviting, but it was usually meant so that young girls could feel secure, having the possibility to ask who was knocking first.

But the sounds coming from the window, however muddled by sounds of not one, but two showers running, were unmistakable.

He’d initially only walked a round through town because he wanted to know where the General had gone. She’d not been set to eat somewhere as far as he knew, but his eldest daughter had wanted to ask her something, had walked over to the quarters she stayed at and found them empty. Had went over to his Ishvalan brothers home then, only to find that her uncle was gone too.

Miles had suspected that they were maybe eating at her brothers, or at Mustangs, after a short-noticed invite, had wanted to go around and take a look.

And then he’d heard the kids in the showers.

Glad to have been the one to hear, had decided to set up camp where he could see the door, knowing that he could still catch the General tomorrow. Several times people had informed him of the going-ons, but he’d never been fast enough to catch the culprits. Knew that it wasn’t always the same couple, rather a different one each time, but still.

Felt glee when imagining that he could finally give someone a stern talking too, that communal goods were not meant for the enjoyment of only a few. What if some elderly woman wanted to take a quick shower? If someone needed to bath their baby?

Suffered through the sounds for that and the near-silence afterwards, waited patiently.

And when he heard laughter near the door, footsteps, he stood up, crossed his arms in front of his chest and took a deep breath. Heard the key turn in the lock.

Stood slack-jawed for a few long moments, when faced with the General, the man formerly known as Scar at her back.

Relaxed demeaner falling a bit, uncertainty spreading on both of their faces, a blush on his, too.

Thought of the sounds he’d heard, felt the blush creep up and forced it down again. Happiness instead filling him, another kind of giddiness. The exited words tumbled forth before he could stop them.

“Great! Now Mustang owes me money!”

His smile met with a set of less than impressed looks.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite you to leave:
> 
> _Short comments_   
>  _Long comments_   
>  _Questions_   
>  _Constructive criticism_   
>  _Reader-reader interaction_
> 
> I reply to every comment, though it sometimes takes me a day, or two.
> 
> I thank you for reading this fic of mine through to the end. I appreciate all comments and kudos and should you want to get into direct contact with me [this is my tumblr](http://illidria.tumblr.com/)


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